Since my early days of blogging, I’ve been an active drunk. I guess I followed in my mom’s footsteps. It started light, two or three beers. But for the most part, it was ten to twelve beers a night. I did move from six percent to three percent beer, but still. Every night for the better part of ten years.
What happened? What got me to that point? If you remember, my mom killed herself when I was twenty-one. Well when I told my second ltr boyfriend of the time, that it was over, he said he couldn’t take it and he wanted to end his life.
I’m thinking that this just froze me. I wasn’t ready, not equipped to handle this, a second time, on my own. I just gave up. Disappeared. I guess I figured if I didn’t do anything, he would realize that we were no more, but that never came. I wanted him to just up and leave. That way I couldn’t be blamed, I wouldn’t hurt him.
Although we never got back together, we never separated. We lived together till last year. All this time, I started to hate myself, in turn, I started to hate him. I was a mean verbal drunk. I’ll save you the details, suffice it to say, I was demeaning, condescending, everything he did was wrong, stupid. You name it, it was everything by right.
How can somebody accept and live through that? I guess, just like I chose to stay and stop living, he chose to accept, not see, the relationship as it was? I won’t know his reasons, but I know mine now. I hope this never happens again.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to blame him for this. I made a choice, but so did he, no? He’s as responsible as I am in this. I mean he’s a grown man, he could have left, shot me up, said something. I know an addict wont do anything unless he’s ready to hear, listen, to what friends and family have to say. But he never did. Just like I stayed, he just stood there and took it, accepted it. He never tried to help himself, nor me. I guess we were just waiting for the other to do “the right thing”.
In August 2017, I felt something. I can’t explain it, but something was different. Then, in November, the shit hit the fan. He exploded stating he couldn’t take it.
WELL IT WAS ABOUT F’IN TIME. For the most part.
He was throwing me out. I asked him what brought this on. Was he in love? The look he gave me said it all. But he said no. (I’ll stop here in regards to his reasons, cause I’m talking about me here. I’ll come back to his reasons in another post)
After about two days, he told me he had been to harsh. He wanted us to at least stay till the end of the lease.
After his outburst, I just up and cut my intake of beer down to six a night. Ok it’s not perfect, but cutting the booze by half, I still had most of my head when I was going to bed. I wasn’t hung over at work. I really started to feel better. I started eating normally, regularly. Coworkers told me I looked better. I also started loosing weight.
In March, I cut down to three beers a night. I started swimming three times a week. I felt great. I had a problem with my right knee in May. I stopped swimming and waited to see a specialist. In August he told me it was vascular. He gave me pills that couldn’t be mixed with alcohol. I went cold turkey from there. Never had any signs of withdrawal. I know it doesn’t work for everybody, but it worked for me. (I never drank alone again. I only drank at special occasions. I had my last drink in February of 2018. Been dry ever since)
I went to a rehab clinic after my knee evaluation. I guess the lack of exercise started to down me. Also, I felt I wasn’t moving forward anymore. I knew I couldn’t reverse over ten years of hell in a flash, but I felt stuck. The Councillor was very proud of me. She didn’t understand the reason I needed her help. I told her I needed to take care of the psychological side of therapy. We started digging into my past. Talked about my parents, and how my roommate was reacting to my changes.
Unfortunately, she got another job and left. I was put in a group to process anxiety, one of the last steps before leaving the clinic. They tried to replace my counselor, but the guy wasn’t any good. So I did my thirteen weeks and left. I did another ten weeks of another anxiety group, at a regular clinic this time. The meetings were fun, but they didn’t really help.
Thru all this, I was hoping to stay friends with my roommate. He was always on his phone or gone. I don’t understand why he was so closed off at home, but insisted on picking me up after my meetings.
In November 2018 I went to a private clinic to get my first check up in about ten years. I came clean to her and told her I wanted to fix, heal, everything I could, if it wasn’t too late. By the looks of it, I didn’t hurt my body that bad. The head is another matter.
In March of 2019, my roommate moved out. I moved to a new apartment in May. Since then, I just wake up, go to work, take care of the cats when I get home and go to bed. I’m not living. I’m alone. Not taking care of myself. I don’t eat as good, as often. I gained about thirty pounds. In August, I felt a pull. The first in two years.
And that’s where I stand right now.
(as always, the lyrics say and mean a lot to me) plus, he’s super cute. lol
My posts from August 2018 were/are true. I did feel good. The good news is, not a drop. Not for August, not even for new years.
Have fun!?
Would I !? 